The Stydia Book
by The Assassin's Son
Summary: Stiles/Lydia: A collection of Stydia moments occurring from high-school life to married life. From fluff to ultra-fluff (if you get the implication) and a variation of genres, this is a collection of Stydia moments! This is the Stydia Book!
1. Nightmare

_A/N: Hello there! This is my first Stydia one-shot, so if the situation comes where it turns out horrible, please excuse me and i sincerely apologise. _

_Granted, my writing skills are yet to develop. But, nonetheless, do enjoy as much as you can. Review, favourite, and follow. _

_Keep calm and ship Stydia! :)_

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><p>She was shivering. The wind was cutting through her thin t-shirt and sleep shorts likes knives, goosebumps rising on her bare skin.<p>

Lydia staggered onward, running frantically through the woods, past leafless trees, trampling on broken branches. Through a maze of dirt, wood, and moonlight above, she finally tripped over an arched branch and fell to the ground.

Her skull was pounding along the right side of her head, making it hard to stand up; she did so anyway. Brushing off small twigs and leaves off her clothes, she brought her attention forward. In the middle of empty part of the woods, where dirt and leaves lay forlorn and dead, was a shirt.

Lydia brought herself – with a slight pain still throbbing against her head – toward the shirt to take a closer look. She should've just ignored it; it was only a shirt. But, there was something about it that seemed vaguely familiar. Picking it up, she noticed that it was grey, a small hole torn at the edge and… and blood soaked across the hem.

With a sickening realisation, Lydia knew whom this shirt belonged to.

_Stiles_, she thought dreadfully.

He was the only one she knew who owned a grey shirt with a hole along the edge, near the seam. She shivered once more, although this time, it was not from the wind.

Lydia clutched Stiles' shirt with white knuckles and tried to settle her breathing.

_Maybe it wasn't blood_, she thought hopefully. It could've be something else. Anything else.

_Wishful thinking, Lydia._

She shot her head up towards the trees. What the _hell_ was that?

"Hello?" She called out, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. She clutched the shirt even tighter. "Who's there?" She called out, louder this time.

No one answered.

The only sound that accompanied her was the wind recoiling back against the trees, blowing dead leaves off the ground and into the night.

Instinctively, Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She then exhaled slowly and opened her eyes once more. It was one of the very few things she ever did when her mind wasn't in the clear. She only hoped that now, with her focus back on the shirt, she wouldn't hear anymore voices. She didn't care whether they were real or not.

_You cannot deny the harsh truth, Lydia, _the voice spoke again, but this time it wasn't in her head. It was resonating throughout the woods. _He is dead and you know it._

Lydia shook with fear, holding the shirt against her chest. The voice, she couldn't make out who it was. It was just… a whisper – a harsh, metallic whisper.

"No." She rasped out. "No, you're lying."

_Don't be such a fool. _The whisper echoed around the circle of trees surrounding her, becoming louder. _Stiles is dead. That is _his_ blood, on _his_ shirt, which you are holding._

Lydia shook her head violently, dropping the shirt and covering her ears with her hands. "That's not true!" She cried.

_Stiles is dead. Your husband is dead. _Despite covering her ears, she could still hear the whisper, invading her mind.

"Shut up!" She yelled. Her knees gave away, she collapsed to the ground, still blocking her ears, but to no avail did it help. It was futile. It was hopeless.

The voice was still speaking, still torturing her with its words.

_All that danger the two of you went through as teenagers, and even now you are not safe. _There was a crude sense of humour lacing its voice.

"Go away!" She shut her eyes tight.

_Your husband is dead. _

"Leave me alone!"

_Stiles is dead. _The voice grew louder, from a whisper to the sound of a man speaking, a gravel tone edged to its words.

"Stop!" She cried.

_And now! _The man's gravelly voice yelled violently. _You will die too!_

Lydia then opened her eyes, brought her hands down to the ground, grabbed a fistful of leaves and dirt, and did what she did best. She screamed.

Lydia screamed as loud as she could until it completely blocked out the voice of the man. All she could her was her own voice, high-pitched and loud that it woke her up.

She sat bolt upright from bed and screamed until her voice faltered. Taking in her surroundings, she realised she'd been having a bad dream. It was still midnight outside, the moon shining down through the blinds, leaking white lights across the floor in stripes. Her breathing slowly returned to its normal pace.

Lydia closed her eyes in relief and clutched the blankets. She was wearing the same shirt and shorts as she did in the dream.

"Lydia?" A voice croaked right next to her.

She turned sideways and saw Stiles – alive – lying down, covered in blankets, one arm lying across her pillow. He was wearing the same grey shirt as the one in her dream, the hole still visible toward the edge. Stiles looked up at her with squinted, tired eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Lydia caressed her hand across his face softly, and fell back against her pillow. Stiles's hand stroked her hair soothingly.

"It was just a nightmare." She said quietly, lying on her side to face him. Stiles moved his other arm across her waist under the blankets, pulling her close and holding onto her tightly.

He closed his eyes and smiled a tiny bit. "It's alright now." He assured her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Go to sleep."

Lydia drowned in his warmth. She had come to realise over the years how assuring and _safe _she felt when she was with Stiles. Sure, he was still that funny, charismatic, cheerful and goofy teenager she came to fall in love with – Lydia often saw that in him, despite him being her husband now – but there was something he gave her that no other guy ever did: warmth and adoration. In more ways than one, she loved him even more for it. And no nightmare would ever take that away from her.

And so Lydia tucked her arm in-between her chest and his, relaxed under his presence, and fell away into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	2. Kiss

_A/N: Hello! First, a big THANK YOU! This is for all of you awesome people who favourited and followed my first ever Stydia fanfic. _

_I _was_ planning to wait another week before submitting a new one, but I decided that - since you guys were just awesome in making me happy with your favourites and follows - I bring you this!_

_I do apologise in advance that it's short, but I promise that I'll make it up with a slightly longer OR steamy one for the next chapter. You decide. _

_As always, review, favourite, follow!_

_ENJOY! :) :) :) _

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><p>Their first kiss had merely been a cautionary tale, a last resort to stop Stiles from his panic attack. Sure, it was mainly executed for his sake, but Lydia felt something deeper than that beneath the kiss, which was why she had taken longer to open her eyes.<p>

Back then, she dismissed any thought of it going beyond the need to help, but that didn't mean the thought didn't exist. It very much did, generally so.

And Lydia knew that all too well.

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><p>Their second kiss, as opposed to their first, was different to a certain extent. It had been <em>real<em>. No, it was not done in the hopes of saving each other. Yes, it happened because they found their way to one another again. For Stiles, it had marked the first time he felt happy beyond anything else. The girl he wanted; the one he had been waiting for since third grade was finally his.

For Lydia, it was different. It meant something much more. To her, the kiss signified her finding her way into his heart again. It meant that he pulled her back after letting her go for Malia. But the problem back then was that she neglected to realize that he had done so in the first place. And so this kiss meant that she was back in his heart.

Only this time, she wasn't leaving.

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><p>Their twentieth kiss had been on their first date. While Stiles opted for a Star Wars movie marathon followed by a heated make-out session, Lydia proposed an evening out to the Beacon Hills Summertime Festival, accompanied by ice cream later on, and <em>then <em>a heated make-out session.

Much to his chagrin, and obviously so, Stiles had no choice but to agree with Lydia's option.

But that didn't matter, because he certainly wasn't complaining after ice cream.

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><p>Their one hundred and tenth kiss happened at their wedding. Sure, the entire church was laced with décor, but Lydia's main attention was on her husband, as she was now legally able to call him that.<p>

The very second the pastor had spoken the chosen seven words, Stiles had cupper the back of her head, gingerly, and leaned in. Lydia, placing one hand on his collarbone, mirrored his moment, until the space between them was no longer empty.

As soon as Lydia's lips met Stiles', she knew that that kiss marked a new chapter in their lives; one that she was ready for, one she was eager to open.

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><p>Their one hundred and twenty-fifth kiss had been executed after their first time making love to each other. Lydia had been caught off guard by how easy it was, as if she had been expecting it to happen sooner or later. She suspected that that was most likely the case, since even before they got married the two of them had experienced some intense make-out sessions that almost escalated into something else. But, nonetheless, it was even more amazing that she imagined.<p>

And it was only going to get better from there.

Stiles, on the other hand, had seriously been enjoying himself way too much, as he had been _really_ loud; loud enough for the entire state of Hawaii to hear them. But a sneaking suspicion at a stolen glance at Lydia's face expression told him she didn't mind one bit.

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><p>Their two-thousandth, three hundred and forty-ninth kiss happened as soon as they woke up. It was their twentieth anniversary- twenty years of being married; twenty years of heaven for the both of them.<p>

So, naturally, they did what they did best: engaged in a hot make-out session, that _would've_ escalated into a more thrilling activity, had it not been for their kids barging in, wishing them a happy anniversary, only to be scarred moments later for the rest of their lives.

While Lydia began freaking out over the entire situation, Stiles thought it was pretty funny. Despite being married for twenty years and having kids, some things were still the same.

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><p>Their last kiss had been on Stiles' deathbed, Stiles clutching Lydia's hand with shaking, wrinkled fingers and grey hair, offering the kindest smile he could manage in his final moments. Lydia, in response, had bent down and kissed him one last time, promising to be with him soon.<p> 


	3. Chess

_A/N: BEWARE! This is ultra-fluff (if ya know what i mean). Yes, this, my friend, crosses the line of fluff and enters steamy. I was debating whether i should make the next chapter long or steamy and so I went with the latter option. But, I will upload a long one-shot soon enough, but for now: _

_Review. Favourite. Follow. _

_Enjoy! :) :D :) :D :) :D _

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><p>He moved his piece across the board with an intricate, graceful style of his hand- picking it up with the tip of his index finger and thumb, and moving it across the white tile, onto the black, and taking out her pawn.<p>

Lydia smirked.

She knew too well that she stood no chance – if, possibly, any chance at all – against Stiles when it came to chess. It was his game. Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't _try_ and beat him. After all, Lydia did have brains. How hard could it be?

"And the cavalry goes down." Stiles commented with a cheeky smirk, plucking Lydia's pawn off the chessboard and putting it aside along with her other pieces.

Needless to say, her brains weren't playing the right cards at the moment.

But she didn't care; at least not _now_.

As the two of them sat on the floor in the living room, right next to the coffee table, right opposite each other, Lydia made note of her husband's features while he was concentrating. It was the same face he pulled every time he was bent over on a case. Whether it was a normal, police-work file or a supernatural debacle, Lydia came to notice how his eyebrows pinched together, how prominent lines appeared across his forehead, and how his eyes stayed deadly focused on his remaining options; on what move to play next; what move to predict; what move to win.

Lydia loved it. Sure, it was one thing for Stiles to look adorable and dorky at the same time whenever he got excited about something – in Lydia's case, or, would you rather, everyone's case, that happened quite often – but it was another when he was in concentration. In all her life, Lydia had seen some pretty attractive boys- hell, she'd dated two of them, till one turned into a cold-blooded lizard and moved to London, and the other died by a Japanese demon whilst being a former alpha. But this was different. _Stiles_ was different. She had never had a guy treat her the way he did. Ever since their marriage, and even before that, Stiles always adored Lydia, treated her like gold, and cared for her deeply. Granted, he did steer off her with Malia for a while, but she eventually got him back. And she couldn't be happier.

But right now, despite having dated attractive boys, none of them held a candle to Stiles as he broke out of his concentration phase and held her gaze with his own.

His brown eyes sparkled off the sunlight streaming the floor, and he smiled one of his mischievous smiles that Lydia came to love.

"Your move, Lyds." He said, raising his eyebrows and smiling wider in anticipation.

Lydia felt the heat rush to her face as she placed her hand on her king. Admittedly, her brains didn't guarantee her a win for this game, but it did help her play the right cards into getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was Stiles all over her. So, drawing the dumb card, she moved her king onto the open space of the chessboard, knowing well that she was about to lose. But, again, that didn't matter. She _wanted_ to lose.

It only meant that things were about to get better. The robes both of them were wearing were a huge indication, if not any other.

Stiles raised her move with one of his own, moving his final piece and taking her king out of the game.

"Checkmate." He said, smirking triumphantly. "I win."

"Yes, you do." She replied, getting excited.

See, Lydia knew she wasn't going to win; that much was obvious. Stiles was too good of a chess player for her. But that meant she lost. And when it came to this particular version of chess they played, when one of them lost…

"Take it off." Stiles spoke in a husky voice, eager to get started as she was.

Lydia smirked and took off her robe, letting the fabric slide off her shoulders slowly, until all that was left was her bare skin, exposed before Stiles' hungry, darkening, predatory eyes.

"Come collect your prize." Lydia teased softly, seductively.

And Stiles immediately discarded his robe, revealing his bare body, and lunged at her, tackling her to the floor, placing his arms on either side of her, and kissing her wildly. Madly. Fiercely. Hungrily. Passionately.

Lydia smiled in triumph to her inner self.

Yes, she lost, but now, the real game was about to begin.


	4. Boyfriend

_A/N: What's this? A new story? I'm just doing this at random times, aren't I? Well, in any case, here is my upload of chapter four of THE STYDIA BOOK._

_As always, review, favourite, follow. I NEED reviews you guys! This fanfic author who has no life needs to know whether he's doing good or not! Feed my hunger!_

_Enjoy! :D_

_Further update: Sorry for taking this chapter down before. A glitch occurred among uploading chapter 4, but here it is again!_

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><p>Stiles knew all too well that Lydia's history with boyfriends didn't end great. Jackson, her most famous one that everyone – even freshmen – knew, turned out to be a cold-blooded lizard creature who was being controlled by a psychotic teen. But even before that it was pretty clear that Lydia's relationship capacity with him hadn't been perfectly within safe borders. The both of them, in a manner of speaking, were like the sharp edges of knives, slashing against each other and making that horrible noise on impact. But despite all that, they held their ground for a good while. Lydia was, after all, the only one who brought Jackson back from his kanima state.<p>

And only someone without eyes had to deny that he was handsome.

He _really_ was, but all that came at a price: a venomous attitude towards everyone.

Then, after he moved to London, came Aiden. Stiles had hoped with all his might that with Jackson out of the picture, he could finally have his chance with her. But, as usual, those hopes were crushed as soon as the alpha pack moved to town.

At first glance he didn't see what was so great about Aiden. Sure, he was handsome too, but seemed a bit edgy. Well, it was that and the fact that he was a vicious and violent werewolf, who freakishly morphed with his twin whenever the situation called for it.

And yet still, Lydia was dead-set on him.

So, high hopes quickly turned to low blows, at least then.

After the whole debacle with Jennifer and the sacrifices and the Nemeton, Aiden had lost his alpha powers, prior to almost having his neck snapped completely. While this came to be a trump card for Stiles, it didn't prove to be so effective, because Lydia was still with him!

But, at least then he had other things on his mind, other things to worry about. Like not being able to read properly, or not getting enough sleep, or having a dark Japanese spirit posses his body for the better half of the time. So yeah, crush problems were pretty low compared to that.

Besides, it was around that time when he started to develop a relationship with Malia. It was also around that time, he noted with part-interest and part-glee, when he had finally gotten some _action_, generally speaking. Granted, doing it in a basement of a mental hospital wasn't the best way to commemorate his first time, but it had been enjoyable no less.

And then he started dating her. Around that point, Stiles' long-standing crush on Lydia had dissipated, but he still felt strongly for her, just in a different way. He hadn't thought it was possible back then, to fall for someone else. But it happened, and it happened with Malia. So, set aside from that, they were officially in a relationship. And it stayed like that until things got a bit complicated.

Eventually, they both agreed that what they had between them wasn't the same as it once was, and so they broke up. It took him a while to get over it. After all, trying to walk away from your first breakup with no wounds was a bit hard to do. He would know.

Slowly but gradually, his feelings for Lydia came back again. Except this time, and this where he really had the trump card, she had no boyfriend. But that didn't mean he acted on his feeling immediately. No, he waited. Like always. It wouldn't be fair to just ask Lydia out on a date, or tell her that he loved her again. It wouldn't be fair to her.

So he waited. And he didn't mind it one bit. Eventually, he got closer with her. Throughout every obstacle they faced, it brought them closer together. And finally – oh man, finally – the day came where they became so close that their relationship as friends graduated to the next level. And since that day, Stiles could not have been happier.

He had finally got the girl he had a crush on since third grade. And she returned his feelings with just as much as love and affection. From then on, Stiles noted two things. One, his relationship with Lydia was different to that of Jackson's or Aiden's. What he shared with her was more of pure love and care than lust and fun. It had more to do with knowing each other all too well, and waiting to see the other after class, and having tons of fun on Friday nights- just being with her made him happier than he had ever been.

The other thing he had noticed, and this bugged him quite a bit, was that he wasn't exactly… hot, compared to her past two boyfriends. Nor did he have any supernatural abilities. What he drove to school didn't even look cool, but hey! He loved that jeep like it was family!

But this realisation kept getting at him every time he was with her. Lydia's line of boyfriends had a lot to offer, and he barely had half of that.

But there was one thing that he gave her that none of the others could ever put a price on: true love.

Stiles loved Lydia more than he loved his jeep, and that said quite a lot. She meant so much to him, a bit like how Scott meant so much to him, like a brother. Scott _was_ his brother. Lydia was his girlfriend. And Stiles was her boyfriend. He was proud to say that, very proud.

So, as he walked down the hallway of school, the noise of students' nonchalant chatter resonating off the walls, he immediately saw her at her locker amid the moving sea of bodies.

He smiled. Lydia noticed him and returned his smile with kindness, something she rarely gave away. Stiles walked up to her and cupped her cheeks with his hands, holding her with care and looking into her brown eyes with such adoration and comfort that he leaned in and kissed her deeply.

Deep in the sense that his lips massaged hers; deep in the sense that the amount of time they spent kissing rendered a few stares from random students who passed by, wondering why Lydia Martin, popular and beautiful and smart, was kissing _Stiles_ _Stiliniski_, of all people. Didn't she have better taste? Her last couple of boyfriends should've justified that!

But Stiles didn't care. And evidently, neither did she, because she kissed back with just as much affection and love, placing her hands on his arms. When they pulled away, Lydia caught her breath and looked at him with part-amusement, part-hunger for more.

"What was that for?" She asked, flicking her eyes from his pair down to his lips every now and then.

"Just wanted to kiss you." Stiles replied with ease, a shrug of his shoulders to add a nice touch.

Lydia, in return, looked bemused, as if not expecting such a casual response. "Well, don't stop there." She gestured toward the janitor's closet to their left with a quirk of her eyebrows and naughty smirk. "How about we continue?"

Stiles laughed in response and hugged her tightly, breathing in her scent of flowers and perfume and clean skin. _Lydia's scent_, he thought giddily.

"Thanks for allowing me to be your boyfriend." He said, slightly muffled from where his mouth was pressed against her hair.

Lydia took a minute to respond, and even though Stiles couldn't see her, he could tell she was trying to process what he meant. But she eventually let it go.

"Thanks for allowing _me_ to be your girlfriend." She responded.

Lydia pulled away and smiled at him, leaning in and kissing him on the nose. She looked back at the janitor's closet, and then at him once again. "We only have twenty minutes before lunch is over." A naught smirk played on her lips. "Let's not waste anymore time."

And she took him by the hand and led him to the janitor's closet.

Stiles, upon this, grinned triumphantly. What he had said to her spoke more about how he felt than anything else. He was genuinely thankful that Lydia chose to be with him, and he was more than grateful that she hadn't broken up with him just yet. He didn't have the world to offer, much unlike those other guys she had dated, but he did give her love, and by this point, that was more than anything any other guy could every buy her.

So, while he _was_ worried that Lydia would compare him to her old boyfriends, put two-and-two together, and dump him for a better-looking guy, the fact that she was taking him to the janitor's closet for a make-out session told him otherwise.

Being Lydia Martin's boyfriend, Stiles realised with glee, was the best thing that ever happened to him.


	5. Carnival

_A/N: ATTENTION! Before reading this, I'd just like to say that this particular one-shot is what I like to call a project. Meaning, an extended Stydia one-shot- something of which I put extra effort into, hence project. Otherwise, please do enjoy this as much as you can, and as always: _

_Review. Favourite. Follow. These three factors make my life look as if I have one to begin with. _

_Enjoy :) :D :) :D _

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><p>Neon lights illuminated the red evening sky of Beacon Hills. Different rides and stations choked the area, accompanied by excited people, eager to kick off the evening in the best way possible.<p>

Stiles had to practically beg Lydia to go with him to the Autumn-Fest Carnival. _Everyone_ was going, and he was more than ecstatic – more than usual, mind you – about going there with his girlfriend. Yeah, that's right! Lydia was now his girlfriend. Naturally, Stiles processed this as a gift from heaven above, but even set apart from that, he always knew his heart would eventually return to her. Lydia was, after all and always will be, the love of his life- since third grade to specify.

So, in regards to all of that, he was pumped to enjoy the evening out with her, going on carnival rides, winning a few games, _finally_ being able to go on the love boat for once, and just spending time with her. Oh yeah, and the making out prior to the love boat of course.

Lydia, on the contrary, didn't exactly share his enthusiasm. Stiles had a fleeting suspicion that she generally didn't like carnivals, or more specifically, didn't like roller coaster rides. Her face had whitened even more than usual when he told her about them.

"You'd have to kill me first before dragging me on one of those." She had commented earlier that day.

"It's not all bad!" Stiles tried to reason. "Think of it as a rush of energy. Lyds, trust me on this, you wont regret it."

"I think I'll take my chances with a no-show."

"But I– "

"Stiles, no." And that was it.

After a few months of dating, and even before that, Stiles – or, practically everyone in that case – knew Lydia to be a stubborn person, and damn could she stay true to her decisions.

So, without any other options left, Stiles rolled out the big guns: puppy dog eyes.

One thing he learnt whilst dating was that whenever he pulled the puppy dog eyes, Lydia couldn't resist, no matter how hard-core she was with the decisions she made. Much to his benefit, Stiles had a tendency to use it on her on more than one occasion.

Eventually, one thing led to another, and here they were, walking over to the first station Stiles had planned.

"High striker?" Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, staring at the elongated piece of equipment

"Yeah." Stiles confirmed, looking at her with a bemused expression. "To see how strong you are."

"I see that." She commented. "But why this game?"

"Because I want to prove how strong I am for you."

Lydia stared at him.

"What?" He asked incredulously. "A guy can't show off his guns to his girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "No." She said in a reasoning voice, gesturing with a sway of her arms for him to try it out. "Not unless all he has is a pea-shooter." She muttered.

"I heard that." Stiles retorted before walking up.

The bar was labelled off at different intervals, according to height, 10 being the lowest, and 100 being the highest. The man running the station gave one glance at Stiles before smirking sceptically and handing him the hammer.

Before hitting the target, Stiles pointed to Lydia and winked. "You just watch, Lydia Martin, as your super-strong boyfriend reaches one hundred."

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><p>So he ended up getting 30.<p>

Granted, it wasn't the best way to commemorate his impressive physique to Lydia, who, throughout the entire round, smiled a wide smile and clapped her hands in mock encouragement, clearly enjoying this, much to his chagrin.

But, on the bright side, he did end up winning a stuffed brown bear wearing a red pointed hat, and holding a cushion heart with the words 'I love you' across it. He immediately gave it to Lydia, who smiled warmly and rewarded him with a deep kiss. At least that wasn't a total fail.

Up next on the agenda was the Ferris wheel. Now, this was a ride where nothing could possibly go wrong, right? At least that's what Stiles assumed.

Oh, was he wrong!

He had momentarily forgotten that heights weren't exactly his best friend – but not his worst enemy – and so it was only when they were half way up did he start to feel a little queasy.

"You feeling okay?" Lydia asked, staring at him inquisitively.

Stiles held onto her hand tightly and swallowed. "Yeah," He spoke a bit shakily, "Just not a big fan of heights."

At this, Lydia laughed. It was one of those laughs that complemented her aquiline features, her flawless face, and perfect smile. It was one of those laughs that completely engulfed Stiles, and made him forget about heights.

She nestled his hand with hers, squeezing reassurance into him. "Stiles, don't worry about it." She nodded her head comfortingly and continued to smile. "Just hold onto my hand, okay?"

Stiles nodded and grinned a tiny bit; happy that she was seemingly enjoying this, though a sneaking suspicion told him it was more from his stupidity than the actual carnival. He scooted over toward her and laced his right arm across her shoulder, pressing his left one into hers across their laps.

Everything at that moment felt so peaceful; so comforting; so _right. _In fact, he didn't even seem to mind the height anymore, which was fine by him. As long as Lydia was by his side, things were perfect.

But they eventually came back down.

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><p>The food was pretty decent by Stiles' standards. Nothing set off a kick-ass weekend better than a foot-long meatball sub topped with extra gravy, sided with a large coke and fries, and for Lydia… a salad.<p>

Stiles had to make a mental note about eating healthier before biting off a huge piece of meatball with gravy spreading to the side of his mouth. Lydia noticed this and giggled; reaching her arm over the table they sat on, and wiped the corner on his lips with a napkin.

He grinned in return, knowing well that he must've looked stupid. But he didn't care; he wanted to look stupid in front of her.

As far as the topic of love went, Stiles was pretty sure it made people do weird things. His case was no less of an understatement.

"So," Lydia said while poking a piece of cabbage off her plate, "What's next on the list?"

Stiles shrugged. "That depends."

"On?"

"On whether you want to get the roller coaster ride done with."

Lydia blanched.

Stiles smirked.

"We are _not_ going on a roller coaster, Stiles." She declared, cocking her eyebrows up and pursing her lips in a pointed manner.

Stiles' smirk widened. "Keep telling yourself that." He muttered before going for another bite.

In response, Lydia narrowed her eyes on his, holding it with a firm intensity. "Oh yeah, I will. Because I _wont_ being going on one."

"Or because you will." Stiles commented in a mockingly observed manner. "Whichever way works for you."

At this, Lydia glared and threw a piece of lettuce in his direction. Stiles dodged to the side, missing the greenery by a few centimetres and flashing a cheeky grin at Lydia. She stuck her tongue out in response and got up to throw away her finished salad. Stiles looked down at his food and noticed that he hadn't even eaten half of his fries, much less his sub.

"How about we try something else first?" Lydia asked as she sat back down.

Stiles considered this thought. Yes, he really wanted to get her on a coaster as soon as possible, but considering he was eating right before the ride, he decided it would be best not to throw up on everyone. Which raised an idea to mind.

He returned his gaze at Lydia with a suggestive look. "What do you say about rock climbing?"

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><p>Rock climbing was nothing like Stiles expected it to be.<p>

What he was anticipating was a fun competition between Lydia and him to see who could get to the top first. What he didn't expect was finding himself a few meters below her, struggling to get a hold of that _stupid_ rock which was too small to get a grip on, while also trying not to get distracted by the amazing view of her ass.

That wasn't even fair!

Stiles was ninety per cent sure that, had he been above her, or positioned at a different angle where he didn't drool over the sight above him, he would already be at the top. Leave it to Lydia to wear nothing but a shirt and short shorts that, in general, complemented her smooth legs, but at the moment, a particular region of her body that was stopping Stiles from moving all together.

So of course, Lydia won.

* * *

><p>"It doesn't bother you that you've lost two games so far?" Lydia asked, holding a free t-shirt she won from rock climbing.<p>

Stiles eyed the shirt with a hint of not-so-subtle jealousy and continued to walk on, her hand in his. "Not when I'm allowing you to win half of them."

"Is it really allowing? Because I really don't think staring at my ass a way of allowing me to win." She turned her head sideways to face him and smiled teasingly. "I'd say I beat you without even trying."

Stiles stared at her. "Shut up."

Lydia's smile grew even wider. Stiles noticed a photo booth to their left as they past by different stations, an idea came to mind. He squeezed her hand and pulled her toward it.

"Come on." He said urgently. "Let's go do something without needing to win anything."

* * *

><p>"I think we actually look pretty hot in the last one." Lydia commented while she examined the four pictures they took.<p>

The first one was of them sticking their tongues out and beaming at the camera, Lydia holding two fingers behind Stiles' head. The second one showed Lydia encircling her hands around his left bicep and smiling with her amazing set of white teeth, and Stiles attempting to look tough by not smiling. The third one held Stiles with a mouthful of Lydia's hair and grinning his idiotic grin, and Lydia laughing at the moment. Finally, the fourth one was of their heads touching together, nose-to-nose, but not kissing. Both of them had big, happy smiles on their faces. It was a picture that signified how happy _Stiles_ felt that he was finally her boyfriend, that _she_ was finally his girlfriend. It captured more of how he felt about Lydia than anything else, which is why they got two copies of the photos. That way, they both had these memories to hold on to.

"So now that we have rock climbing out of the way, what do you say about that rollercoaster ride?"

Lydia looked as if she pondered this question, but Stiles knew she was only doing it in a fake manner. "I say it's still a no-go."

"Well, what if I say I have an ultimatum for you, in regards to the rollercoaster?"

"I'd say you'd have to be really smart to make a deal with me about a ride like that."

"Then, generally speaking, how about if you go on the rollercoaster ride with me," Stiles looked around the carnival to find something. Then, at that moment, his eyes landed on a particular station that etched a smile on his face. "I'll do something in return for you."

At this, Lydia looked interested, genuinely interested. She turned and faced him directly, swinging her arms around Stiles' neck and looking at him with sceptical eyes. "What exactly will you do if I go on a rollercoaster with you?"

Stiles gestured toward the dunk tank a few meters onward. "I'll volunteer to go on that tank, and you can get me drenched."

Lydia turned her head around to face the station, and Stiles could tell that from the widening of her eyes, she was on board with it.

She turned back immediately towards him and held his look with a silent fierce one of her own. She leaned in and brought her face to his, her lips brushing his pair as she spoke quietly. "If I find out your lying, Stiles, I'll drag you over to that dunk tank myself."

Stiles couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, despite feeling intimidated. Lydia was pretty scary whenever she looked serious. He held up his hand, as if in a pledge. "You have my word, Lydia Martin."

And so Lydia took his hand and they walked over to the rollercoaster ride, Stiles practically prancing along.

* * *

><p>The rollercoaster – the only one in the entire carnival – was pretty massive, so its size made up for its number. Different tracks wounded over and across each other, intersecting at some parts and separating at others. The line wasn't too terribly big, so the both of them made it to the seats in no time.<p>

As soon as they buckled up, Lydia gave one nervous look behind them before holding on tight.

Stiles noticed this and felt bad about himself. He neglected to consolidate her before they got on. After all, she did the same for him on the Ferris wheel.

"Hey, look at me." He said, gently cupping her face with his right hand and softly bringing her attention to him. "It'll be okay, alright? Remember, just close your eyes and think of it as a rush of wild energy."

Lydia offered a grateful smile for him making things slightly better, but it quickly vanished with a measured look and pursed lips; a common thing she did when she made a point. "If you throw up on me, I'm using your clothes to wipe it off."

Stiles looked down at his chinos and red V-neck t-shirt. Honestly, his clothes could've served an even lesser purpose than a rag cloth. At least it's what he assumed.

But all thoughts were immediately dismissed as soon as the rollercoaster began to move. First, it veered forward at a slow pace, Lydia shutting her eyes and holding onto Stiles' hand. Then, as they ascended upward, she tightened her grip on him, still shutting her eyes, as Stiles' noticed with interest. Finally, as they reached the peak of the ride, Lydia held on so tightly that Stiles was sure she would break his fingers. It took serious power to hold in the pain, because he damn sure felt like screaming like a little girl. He didn't even know Lydia was this strong. But, yet again, all thoughts were vanished as the rollercoaster began to move down. Stiles only had moments to get a high view of the entire carnival; the different stations positioned at all corners of the area, people milling around and chatting nonchalantly, some woman getting a score higher than 30 on the High Striker. Steroids, Stiles assumed. And then they fell.

The rollercoaster descended downward with such force that it knocked any sense of pain from Stiles' body, and replaced it with adrenaline and energy. He screamed and hollered in excitement, throwing his left hand up in the air. Lydia, on the contrary, had opened her eyes as soon as they went down and screamed as loud as she could- not a banshee level screech, but a scream that suggested energy. Her metal-vice grip on his hand loosened as they wound through different tracks, moving in a wave of twists and turns. Great gusts of wind blew in their faces as they continued to travel at high speed throughout the entire ride, Stiles feeling like his face would peel off. In all that time, that time of amazing chaos, and kick-ass adrenaline, he could hear Lydia as she hollered in excitement, clearly enjoying the ride as much as he did.

Stiles smiled, feeling proud. He got Lydia to overcome her fear of rollercoasters, and have a good time whilst in the process. But his triumphant smile soon vanished, as he knew what this now meant: the dunk tank.

* * *

><p>"You know, when I said I would go on the dunk tank if you went on the rollercoaster, I didn't actually mean it." Stiles said frantically, trying hard to get out of this as best as he could.<p>

Lydia, much to his chagrin, remained dead-set on him getting soaked with cold water. "Forget it, Stiles. A deal's a deal." And she continued to pull his arm toward the station.

"Lydia, wait, wait, wait." Stiles said, and turned her around to face him. He nestled his hands against her soft cheeks, brushing them with the pad of his thumbs out of habit. "Let's just try and focus on the main deal, here."

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Which is?"

"That you overcame your fear of rollercoasters. That you enjoyed yourself." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "And that I was with you the whole way through."

Lydia closed her eyes and put her left hand on his arm. In the dim-blue light of the sky above, her strawberry blonde hair, which fell around her head in curls, made her look even more beautiful than usual. "Stiles, I know. I _did_ overcome my fear, and I _did_ have a good time." She leaned in and kissed him on the nose. "And thank you for that." She opened her eyes, and Stiles could see a devious smirk playing on her lips. "But I want to make it better by throwing you in a tank of water." She turned back around and pulled his arm forward. "Now, shut up and come on."

Stiles groaned in protest before following.

* * *

><p>"This doesn't look too safe." Stiles informed Lydia, who was at the front of the line, tossing the ball between her hands.<p>

Stiles shuffled uncomfortably on the seat above the tank of water, eyeing it with caution, as if it was filled with sharks.

"Alrighty then." Said the man running the station. "On your mark."

Lydia stopped tossing the ball and held it firmly in her right hand.

"Lydia, wait." Stiles warned, putting his hand forward in front of him.

"Get set!"

She squinted her eyes in concentration, and placed her elbow in front of her, her throwing arm in an L-shaped position at the back.

"Let's be rational about this. Lyds?"

"Go!"

Lydia threw the ball as hard as she could. Stiles only had a moment to blink before the ball his the target to his left… and he fell in.

Cold water engulfed him all over, soaking his clothes and pressing the water into his skin like cold knives. He immediately swam up to the surface, and found a triumphant Lydia laughing her ass off.

Stiles chided himself to never make a deal with her ever again; at least not one that bet his ass on the line.

* * *

><p>They walked aimlessly throughout the carnival, spotting different stations and suggesting going on them, but after the evening's events, Stiles could tell that they both had had enough. But it was still fun, no less. Dear God, it was so much fun. Stiles knew that going to the Autumn-Fest Carnival with Lydia would be butt-loads of fun, but he never expected it to go quite like this. Granted, in almost every game, he was on the losing end. And for the better half of it, he was sure that Lydia had nothing to do with it. Maybe he just sucked at carnival games? More to the point, he couldn't think of a better way to spend his Saturday evening. Stiles knew all too well that moments like these, where the girl you've had a crush on since third grade was now finally your girlfriend, only came once in forever.<p>

But he beat the system.

He got Lydia. And he was never going to let her go… Unless, of course, she dumped his sorry ass, which would most likely be the case.

As they passed by random people, holding hands without a care in the world, Stiles noticed one particular station that they hadn't been on yet; that _he_ hadn't been on yet.

"Lydia?" He asked.

"Hmm?" She responded, looking sideways at him with a gentle smile.

Stiles pointed at the ride towards the far left. "Can that be our last one?"

Lydia followed his gaze, and, upon seeing what he was pointing at, smiled a bit wider. Stiles loved it.

"Definitely." She said.

And they both walked over to The Love Boat with glee.

* * *

><p>The boat they sat on moved a steady, slow pace- perfect for the both of them to sit back and enjoy each other's company.<p>

Stiles had his arm draped across Lydia's shoulder, and she rested her head gently against his collarbone. He tried to imagine viewing them at the front of the boat, seeing a young couple intoxicated with love for each other. If his mind's eye moved closer, it could see that, beneath that veil of care and affection, there were scars. Blisters. Wounds. Marks from a past consumed with fear, danger, grief, and loss. Marks that faded over time, but were still prominent, like tattoos; wearing their skin.

Two years ago, Stiles never would've imagined this image; never would've thought it as a possibility. Lydia Martin had been the school's popular icon, the girl who threw the best parties in Beacon Hills, and was flawless in everything. And Stiles? He was a mere no-body, a teenage boy with a massive crush on a girl who was once from a different world, a girl who never regarded him with anything as so much as a small glance.

And now? Now, they were dating. Now, they were inseparable. Their worlds had collided in the most unexpected ways, and throughout all of that, many twists and turns had hit them like… well, like rollercoasters, separating them in different directions, until they were lost. But eventually, they found their way back to each other; eventually, he found his way back to her.

This, Stiles realised, brought a thought to mind.

"Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

Stiles hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether it was a good idea to say it. He didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. But he said it anyway. "I love you."

Lydia quickly sat up straight and looked at him, searching his eyes with such intensity that he was sure he would get lost in them. After a moment, and his words finally sunk in, Lydia's look softened, and she kissed him on the lips.

But she didn't pull back.

Neither of them did. Stiles shuffled his body sideways so he could get a better angle, and cupped her cheeks with his hands. Her lips moved and grazed softly against his, spreading a sensation of warmth and comfort and love for this girl – this beautiful and smart and amazing girl – all over his body, to the tips of his being. His thumbs brushed her soft cheeks soothingly, but not only from habit this time. And when Lydia's tongue roamed around his bottom lip, he couldn't help but let out a low, gradual moan. Apparently Lydia must've loved it, because she grabbed a fistful of his hair and deepened their kiss.

They stayed like that until neither of them could no longer breathe.

When they pulled apart, Lydia gave him one of her most genuine, kind, and beautiful smiles that Stiles rarely saw. Although a recollection of past memories regarding those smiles indicated that she only saved those for him. And he loved her even more for it.

So, when they regained the position they were originally in, Lydia's head resting gently against his collarbone, and Stiles' arm across her shoulder, he said one last thing.

"Thanks for not leaving me."

Stiles heard Lydia let out a soft air of laughter, holding onto the stuffed bear in her purse before responding, and what she had said made him happy beyond anything else.

"I'll never leave you, Stiles"

And they rode off into the night in comfortable silence.


	6. Loss

_A/N: Wassup! Because you gracious saints were kind enough to review, favourite and follow The Stydia Book from previous chapters, I give you this one. A 24 hour update! Now ain't that something big! As always, REVIEW, FAVOURITE, FOLLOW! It seems like when people read these one-shots, they execute one of the three options, but leave the other two out. Come on, lovely creatures! Do all three, pweaasee?_

_Enjoy! :D :D :D :D_

* * *

><p>It started with the phone call from Scott's mom, Melissa, from the hospital. Lydia only had time to sense it – as part of her banshee qualities – before she rushed into their room and saw Stiles sitting on the bed; dropped the phone from his shaking hands, tears streaming down his face as he blankly stared at the floor.<p>

She rushed over to him and pulled him in a tight hug, hoping it would be an indicator of reassurance. But she knew too well that that was wishful thinking. How could he possibly feel reassured right now? How could he possibly feel _anything_, right after being given news of his father's death?

Try as she might, but no matter what she did, Lydia could not get her husband to stop shaking, to stop staring into open space, to stop disconnecting himself from the real world.

Stiles' father – the only family he had left – was taken away from him. Forever.

* * *

><p>The funeral had gone by in a blur. Through Lydia's eyes, it had been a mix of grey skies and white chapels, black suits and grieving hugs. The only part she did remember with clear consciousness was holding his hand during the burial, squeezing whatever hope and affection she could possibly muster into him, but to little avail did that task prove effective. Stiles had stood beside her the whole time, wearing the same gaunt expression he had worn the day he heard the news.<p>

His black suit stood out as a prominent colour in contrast to his pale skin, which, under the grey sky, looked even paler than usual. Lydia had a feeling that it wasn't just from the sky, and more from what was happening as they stood there, watching the coffin be lowered into the ground.

Still, Stiles wore no expression other than that oblique look of loss and numbness.

* * *

><p>They had been sleeping soundlessly throughout the night, moonlight glowing through the blinds from the windows, and casting stripes of white light across the floor, when suddenly, Stiles woke up, screaming.<p>

It had taken Lydia a couple of minutes to calm him down and hold him tightly, till Stiles' screams slowly ceased, and was replaced by that awful shaking he once had before. Only then, Stiles had been under a near-catatonic state of depression, unable to feel anything, do anything. Now, he cried. Now, he let out every ounce of emotion and feeling into the tears that spilled down his cheeks, into the shake of his shoulders; into the whimpers and sniffles emitted from him until he collapsed in exhaustion, finally soaking into a drowsy sleep. And in all that time, Lydia held him tight, tight to not let go; tight to never let go.

In all that time, Lydia sat by his side, offering her everything to him, in the sole promise of being there for Stiles, being his rock in this tornado of tragedy.

Soon enough, Lydia too fell asleep, her arms tangled around Stiles' body, and Stiles hugging onto her for dear life.

* * *

><p>He began to smile more. Whether it was a scenario regarding a normal day and Lydia making one of her smart-mouthed comments on a particular subject, or a tricky situation involving her brains, Stiles began to smile more. He knew at some parts throughout what had happened, she was only trying to cheer him up, make him feel better. On the contrary, he also knew that at other times, when she wasn't even trying to be funny, and just being Lydia, he <em>would<em> laugh, or smile.

And she would love it.

It meant that he was coming back; that her dorky, hyperactive, smart, kind, and full-of-life husband was slowly leaving that void of dark emptiness, and she missed him. So much.

* * *

><p>They had both collapsed on the bed, lying side-by-side, holding hands, and struggling to catch their breaths after endless hours of lovemaking. The thing that surprised Lydia most was how much she missed it. How much she missed <em>him<em>. She hadn't realised that, in that horrible time regarding his dad, there had been a deep longing inside of her to get back that spark between them- a spark that wasn't just sex and lust, but true love.

But she had it now; had it so well that Stiles was right next to her, whispering words of adoration in her ear and holding onto her tightly.

Lydia came to understand that deep loss could only be mended by time and affection, both of which were given to Stiles.

In that moment, where Stiles and Lydia were lying side-by-side, naked to each other's eyes, Lydia felt happy. Happy, that her husband was back to normal; happy to have him in her life.


	7. Content

_A/N: So, this I would say is a _particular_ one-shot, which I wrote all in one go- almost all of the the one-shots I write are in one go, but this one is DIFFERENT. What makes it so different from the other Stydia __one-shots that I've written__ is that it has a more serious edge to it. Prior to the fact that this was originally a separate one-shot outside The Stydia Book, I decided to post it as a new chapter anyway. _

_REVIEW. FAVOURITE. FOLLOW. All three if you must... please do. Please. _

_Enjoy! :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D _

* * *

><p>The soft patter of raindrops is the only sound that echoes throughout the silence of the house. All activities, which what is normally carried out as daily routines, are abruptly stopped amid the calmness of their atmosphere.<p>

Stiles and Lydia do not care for any type of work today. They bask in the warmth of their paradise.

It is originally Stiles' idea to initiate this proposition, and only when Lydia agrees wholeheartedly to it do they disseminate it to their household chores, leaving them abandoned for one day, every month. What substitutes as a perdurable task from the jobs they work at in the town miles away is the simple tranquillity of doing nothing.

Literally.

Whether it is lounging around on the couch in the living room, or in the warm comforts of their bed upstairs, they do not exude even an infinitesimal ounce of energy into any sort of occupancy.

They leave it for the next day.

As boring as it may seem, what surprises both Stiles and Lydia is how comforting it feels. Comforting, in a different manner to what they are normally used to. After all, they had not felt such easiness until they had made the big choice. Running away from home, running away from them was a tough decision to make; regardless of the benefits it would bestow on them. Escaping their old lives would not have been their final card to draw, had things not gotten out of control. Just the mere memories of their haunted past in Beacon Hills has an uneasy edge to the way they function, and so they tend not to think about it, as painful as it may be

Stiles would _like_ to remember Scott, his best friend. His brother. He would like to remember his dad, just as much as Lydia would like to remember Kira and Allison, who, on the matter, has been deceased for a long time now, but stills reopens a wound in her skin. It may not be visible to the naked eyes, but to Stiles, it's as clear as the white of her skin. And in any case, remembering them makes the wounds even worse.

But, what is done had to be done. Stiles and Lydia had to let go of the tether holding them on to their old lives, and they fell into oblivion until they found a new one. Sure, they did it when they were teenagers, and living off part-time jobs and extra shifts had not been easy, but slowly yet assuredly, they found real jobs with good pays. And, as the loose threads of their lives intertwined together until it formed an intricate fabric, they got married.

It wasn't a big ordeal to begin with; they kept it quiet. Granted, it was not the opulent wedding filled with wine glasses and rose petals that Lydia fantasized it would be, but just being able to seal her relationship with Stiles with just one prominent kiss had been enough to keep her happy. So, they eloped. That was it; nothing to be said, nothing to be done.

And now, five years later, here they are. Stiles and Lydia live in a reasonably big house outside the tumultuous town life of Seattle, where activities of civilisation are condensed down to the waking movements of their fingers, hands, toes, and feet. It may be in the middle of nowhere, but to them, it is somewhere.

So, for the whole day, as is a tradition of sorts, the couple live their lives bereft of work, calling in a sick day, or whatever the case may be. Reason being, they need a sense of relaxation in their lives. As needy as it sounds, it seems as if they have to have that essential part of peace that makes the decision they made just a little bit more worth it. And, in spite of everything that had been thrown at them during their teenage years; in spite of everything and everyone they had lost, it _is_ worth it.

There may be a longing that burns a dark hole in their heart every day, waiting to be filled with the happiness that only friendship can fill, but it is not enough to keep Stiles and Lydia from continuing on with life; a life they tried so hard to grab onto, despite the price it came with.

So, as Lydia stares vacantly out the window of their bedroom, watching with no sense of interest as the lone droplets of rain race down the framed glass, she feels his arms circle her waist, pulling her flush against the front of his body. Stiles breathes her in and closes his eyes, exhaling quietly. It is a scent he has come to be familiar with, as familiar as his own clothes. It brings him comfort and security.

She rests her hands against his arms and hums contently, leaning her head back against his collarbone. And for the rest of the while, the two of them stay fixed in that position, staring at the rain that pours down on their house in a continuous pattern.

Life may not be as good as Stiles and Lydia had hoped it would be- where friends and family accompanied them. No, it may not be as good as anything. But it's good to them. They are together in their own secluded part of the world; they are together in their own happiness.

For a long time it has been, and a long time it will be, Stiles and Lydia are happy.

Stiles and Lydia are content.


	8. Baby

_A/N: Hey there! Yeah, so umm first off I'd like to give a special shout out to Katherine March! This one's for you, bae! Hope ya enjoy it!_

_As always, and guys, like actually please do this? pweasse? pwwweaaseee? Review. Favourite. Follow. _

_I love you guys like Stiles loves Lydia._

* * *

><p>Stiles never knew that taking care of a baby would be so hard.<p>

Why the hell did he ever think it was easy? Who has _ever_ thought of it as easy?

Evidently, he did. Or at least when Lydia was pregnant. Those nine months gave him plenty of time to prepare for the worst, or, would you rather, prepare for the weirdest. But, much to his stupidity, Stiles assumed the whole thing would be a walk in the park. And it was! _Oh yeah_, it _was_ a walk in the park… Hell's park.

For the past nine days (basically as soon as the baby got home) both Stiles had Lydia had been deprived of sleep. It was hard enough on Lydia's part to go through all that pain during the giving-birth procedure, and Stiles knew this from the way she had almost crushed is hand, but to go through this as well? That was just unfair!

And she knew it. Stiles could tell from the dark circle under her eyes and the rumples in her clothes from sleepless nights that she wasn't appreciating this big break after nine months of mood swings, cravings for the weirdest foods, and special care only given from Stiles. Although, the way she had threatened to hit him with the baby as soon as she 'pushed it out' told him she didn't share his grace on his help.

But Stiles did his best to give her whatever rest they could afford. In between diaper changing and lullaby singing, it seemed they had hardly found the time to even share a chaste kiss.

So as Stiles now held their baby girl in his arms, cradling her to his shoulders and moving her in a rhythmic pattern, he realised how much it took from him to get this far. The both of them had had four years of fun being a married couple, and even more before that as just boyfriend and girlfriend, but here they were, taking care of their new baby – Allison, they decided to name her in honour of their deceased friend – and not getting any sleep. Deep down inside, Stiles wondered if it was all worth it; if it was all worth _this_.

"How's she doing?" Asked Lydia, who stood in the doorway, folding her arms over her robe. Even in the dim gold light of the nursery, dark circles of fatigue were still pressed and prominent under her eyes, like a compressed tattoo.

Stiles gave her an appreciating smile and replied. "Better than before, which means progress." He looked at the baby. "For the both of us."

Up close, she had the softest cheeks, a small round head and dark eyelashes that curled at the tips, just like Lydia had. Allison, upon awaking to the new world, also had dark brown eyes like Stiles, but the same nose as her mom. In more ways than one, their baby daughter shared only the best qualities combined from the both of them. Not to toot his own horn, but dark brown eyes with curling eyelashes? Every guy would be all over her by the time she reached middle school. Speaking of which, now that Stiles was theoretically a father now, he had to play the 'over-protective dad' role, didn't he? It's what most guys did when they had daughters.

Well considering he had faced off with a pack of alphas, a dark Japanese spirit, and was married to a banshee, boy trouble would be nothing compared to that.

"Who would've thought we'd make it this far?" She said, walking into the room and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Stiles closed his eyes momentarily and basked in the feel of her lips on his skin. "What do you mean?"

"Us having a kid. Being married." She looked at him with longing eyes. "Being alive."

He smiled softly and leaned in closer, kissing her forehead. "We're here now." Stiles looked at her. "And we'll make it farther."

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few moments. Stiles then looked at the circles around her eyes.

"Get some sleep." He said. "You need it."

"What about you?"

"I'll find time later."

Stiles knew she couldn't muster any energy into arguing about it, so she smiled appreciatively, kissed him on the lips and walked out.

As for Stiles, he stood there in the middle of their daughter's nursery, rocking her to sleep and wondering to himself how he got this lucky. He was married to the love of his life, he now had a beautiful daughter, and he could already see a bright future ahead.

Sure, they had to go through a lot; endure a lot back when they were teenagers, but as Stiles realised that it only brought them to where they were now, he realised that yes, it was all worth it; yes, it was all worth _this_.

He never felt so happy.


	9. Sick

_A/N: Once upon a time, I envisioned this and wrote it as a fanfic. The end. _

_Leave a review, follow my story, favourite it too! _

_Enjoy dis!_

* * *

><p>Stiles was sick.<p>

He made sure that was evident. His hair, which was usually styled up, was pasted to his forehead, tousled. His complexion was not its usual colour; his skin was paler than it should've been. He even looked tired, the aftereffects of working too much and resting too little.

And despite all that, he still wanted to work.

Lydia chided him several times that day that, given his current state, work was out of the question. In fact, it was the whole idea of work that made him sick in the first place. Had he spent less time at the police station and not working with officers who had the flu, he wouldn't be in this situation. But did he listen? No, and once again, his stubbornness overpowered Lydia's advise.

But that didn't matter, not when the tables were turned on him.

Lydia had to chide herself too for enjoying this just a tiny bit. Her husband was sick in bed, and while she was doing her best to nurse him back to health, she was feeling just a tiny bit triumphantly smug about it.

Karma was indeed a pain in the ass, only this time she didn't mind it all that much.

But that didn't mean things were going so well on her perspective.

Throughout the entire day, she had caught Stiles sneaking out of their room _twice _to work on the new case that was brought in a few days ago. Then, if that wasn't enough, he ended up arguing with her about the type of medicine he needed to take. Stiles had it in his head that the raspberry flavoured cough syrups tasted like gasoline, and that the grape favoured ones were more accurate to its fruit. Lydia had protested that it didn't matter how it _tasted_, so as long as it made him better. But, as such was expected, Stiles ended up arguing about that as well.

Needless to say, things soon escalated into a debate on different types of flavoured cough syrups, and while Lydia mentally scolded herself for getting distracted by his stupidity, she also claimed that, in her defence, there _were_ such things as orange flavoured cough syrups.

So, here she was, making him a bowl of hot chicken soup, while also anticipating for the call that was sure to come.

"Lydia?" Came his weak voice.

And there it was.

Lydia huffed a breath of exasperation before carrying the bowl upstairs, down the hall, and into their room. She was greeted by the sight of used tissues covering the floor like snowflakes, the bed sheets twisted and rumpled, and her husband leaning back against the backboard of the bed, his grey shirt sticking to his chest. He regarded her with tired eyes and eyed the bowl guardedly. Lydia prayed that he wouldn't argue about the soup too.

"You called?" Lydia asked. _Again_, she thought, slight irritably.

Stiles, upon responding, still kept his attention on the soup. "What flavour is that?"

_Oh God, no. _

"Chicken." She said measuredly, adamant on feeding it to him whether he liked it or not.

Fortunately, Stiles' eyes loosened its restraint at the news, and patted the side of the bed with his hand.

"Come sit down." He said, grogginess lacing his tone.

Lydia smiled assuredly and followed pursuit, sitting by his side and spoon-feeding him. Stiles complied with her doing so, which made things a hell of a lot easier for her. Granted, feeding him seemed childish and unnecessary, but seeing him look so weak, and yet adorable, at the same time made the need to take care of him expand.

In between soup feeding, Lydia picked the fever thermometer off the bedside table and placed it under his tongue, feeling his forehead while it did its work. It was warmer than it was before, which was a good sign, but hot no less.

She then checked the thermometer. **101.5 **it read.

"How am I doing?" He asked.

"Better than before, but not completely back to normal." She looked up at him. "Not by a long shot."

Upon hearing this, Stiles tilted his head back and groaned, hating the mere mention of staying in bed for a longer amount of time.

Lydia smiled in amusement, finding his expression somewhat hilarious.

"I could be working right now." He commented with protest. "Lyds, I need to get started on that case."

"That case is the entire reason you're in bed right now." She retorted accusingly. "Stiles," she placed her hand on his cheek and moved it so that he was looking at her. "I know you want to solve this as much as anyone else, but if you keep working yourself tirelessly, you'll end up way worse than you already are."

Stiles processed this information with a nod of his head, seemingly already knowing it.

He then looked at her with wondrous eyes – eyes that made Lydia go weak on her knees – and raised his hand to brush her cheek with his thumb, a habit of his.

He smiled weakly, but affectionately. "I love you."

Lydia mirrored his smile, with more care, and kissed him on the cheek. "Love you too."

"And thanks for putting up with me." He said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I know how much of a pain in the ass I can be."

She let out a small chuckle in response and continued to feed him. "No one ever said being Stiles Stilinski's wife would be easy."

Stiles let out a bigger smile and nodded in agreement.

It was true.

No one ever said it _would_ be easy, but Lydia came to realise that it wasn't hard either. However the case may be, whether he was sick or not, Stiles had a certain spark about him that made her smile without even trying. That spark also had a way of making her look idiotic whenever they argued about something as dumb and pointless as cough syrups.

But she didn't care.

She loved him for it. And if holding onto that spark meant that Lydia had to put up with his nonsense when he was sick, then she didn't mind one bit.

Nope, not one bit at all.


	10. Unrequited Love

A/N: So, this is a Ten-Mark fanfic, meaning it's the tenth chapter of The Stydia Book, further meaning I've reached ten chapters. So far, it's been pretty nice with Fanfiction. There are those of you out there who have given me feedback, favourited and followed The Stydia Book. For that, I cannot thank you enough for doing what you've done.

Your reviews, favourites and follows keep me going :D As for this chapter, as it marks 10 chapters, it's a two-word title, much unlike the other nine I've written, and short, but effective to the point.

I fully dedicate this one to my Fanfiction bae littlexkiller.

Hope you enjoy it :D

And here's to hopefully another 10 chapters.

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><p>Their love had once been unsteady, unrequited to the core of which one felt for the other, and the other simply did not. But still, it clung to them tenaciously, waiting to draw a bridge, an anchor between the two in the case that one-day, upon a life, they would cross that bridge together and meet in the middle.<p>

Oh how that bridge remained uncrossed for so long.

Dangers and threats to life's promises forged up an endless cycle, thus driving them further apart. Such that had crumbled the bridge had made it worse when one fell for another, the one, gravelly so, who had clung onto the very loose fabric of the other, hoping to weave her a blanket of love one-day, upon a life.

The cycle of endangerment continued in a way that led the other, the one who blew off the strands of affection off her shoulder when the wind came, to the iridescent ashes from the smoke of rebirth; a pliant force of a phoenix swept over the crumbling bridge that had once been something to remember.

And so it had continued, for however long it occurred in that limitless time span the lucky few called love.

The last dying embers of what should have been were raised once more, but in a different form, and in a different light. Friendship was the name it chose to go by, as it would make do with what they had left to work with. The winds spoke precariously over the crumbled bridge, now an ancient artefact left to marvel over, for the eyes of many to wonder of how it could have been, maybe one day, maybe upon a life. Indeed, the winds spoke of how the one named Friendship worked well with them. And it was upon that sultry gossip that the established consideration of whether love was not their thing had finally been raised to question.

True? False?

The ashes and coyote relied heavily upon these two heavens of judgement, and it was only then that the tidal waves begun to arise. Crashing down in fights and screams came the sudden break down of what they had with the pair. Until it was none more to consider than a wounded anchor, a profoundly crumbled bridge beyond repairing, the one that was original to start with begun to rebuild. Slowly but assuredly, and piece by piece, the anchor that was once laid to waste stood strong again, between the beacons of what decided they felt for each other, and whereupon hope was lost in the tidal wave of new creations, it had returned.

And this time, it was to stay until the end.


	11. Just A Feeling

_A/N: So now I've got titles that contain more than one word. Gasp! Whoever knew this was possible!? _

_Anyway, this is the kind of fanfic I can so easily imagine actually happening, so I thought 'why not disseminate it to the audience?' And here I am._

_Read away and review too!_

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><p>Lydia woke up to a ceiling, her vision blurring ever so slightly. Sitting up with unease, clutching the thin white bed sheets with shaking hands, she took in her surroundings. She was in a room, that much was obvious. Outside her room was a wide window displaying the tumultuous activity of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. Nurses and patients bustled about the hallways, walking to and fro rooms. Sitting on one of the chairs outside with his head leaning on his right arm, eyes closed, was Stiles.<p>

Lydia made a move to go to him, but immediately regretted it as soon as she tried to move her leg. A wire of pain shot up her ankle, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from passing out. The door to her room opened, and in came Melissa Mccall. She smiled at Lydia.

"Hey." She greeted, walking over to her. "You're awake."

"That I am." Lydia commented, rubbing at her forehead. "What happened?"

Melissa's brows furrowed in confusion. "Lydia, you don't- you don't remember? How hard did you hit your head?"

As the nurse ran her hand through Lydia's forehead, pressing for any signs of bumps, she mentally mulled over the events that happened before right now. The pack – Scott, Kira, Liam, Derek, Stiles, Malia and her – they were discussing plans of action against an omega wreaking havoc all across Beacon Hills. Murders were occurring all around, the police force was up to their knees in the amount of dirt they were in, and Stiles' dad… Lydia didn't even want to think of the amount of work the sheriff had to deal with.

She remembered how the group decided to finally catch the omega, whoever it was. Obviously Lydia tagged along; she had to. Not going meant she wasn't important to the pack. And she wasn't going to have any of it, despite Stiles' multiple protests that it wasn't safe for her, especially because she couldn't heal like the others. In turn, Lydia had retorted that Stiles couldn't do it either, but heaven forbid her boyfriend not be stubborn about anything like this. So they went in Stiles' jeep, trailing the woods and coming across several bumps from dead twigs and branches. Needless to say, the ride wasn't great, but Lydia did feel safe. Knowing Stiles was right with her just had that feeling. Then, out of the blue, the infamous omega they'd been looking for had jumped on Stiles' front hood, smashing the glass from the jeep, hurling them out, and smashing Lydia into her tree. The last thing she felt was her leg snap and a sharp pain on her forehead before blacking out.

"Is he okay?" Lydia asked, flicking her eyes back to Stiles' sleeping figure on the chair outside. From the looks of it, he didn't appear to be hurt.

Melissa followed her gaze. "Oh, yeah he's fine. Most of the impact from the injury was on you, unfortunately. But, as luck would have it, it was nothing short of anything serious."

Lydia grumbled and closed her eyes in frustration. Of course the worst of it happened to her.

The sound of Melissa's chuckle brought her eyes open to her face. Dark circles were etched under her eyes, symbolising shadows of fatigue marked by overwork. These past few days had not been kind to Scott's mom, Lydia realised. How could it be anything easy? What with the dead bodies and all, she was surprised doctors weren't running frantic all over the building. This, as an afterthought, brought two questions to mind.

"Did umm- did they catch him?" Lydia asked, drifting her eyes to her hands in front of her. They were paler than they should have been.

"Scott and Derek got him a couple of minutes after he attacked you guys. According to Scott, he didn't put up much of a fight."

"But who is he?"

From the corners of Lydia's eyes, Melissa folded her arms. "That's what they're trying to figure out."

She looked back at Stiles outside, slumped and basically dead to the world before him. She couldn't help but smile a fraction of a bit; he looked peaceful when he slept. Like all the worry was out of him. "And how long has been out there?"

Melissa flicked her eyes at him and smiled too, her eyes giving off a faint sense of sympathy. "All night since we put you in here. The only other place he went to was the vending machine." She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes on him. "You know he almost knocked it down? Apparently it wasn't working."

Lydia, despite herself, chuckled at the mere image of Stiles attempting to knock down a vending machine just for a snack.

"He really likes you, Lydia." Melissa turned towards her and gave a kind smile. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone care for someone as much as he does, and what _I_ forget to realise sometimes is that he's had a crush on you since third grade. That's quite a long time. He's my best-friend's son, which means he's practically _my_ son, and if there's anything I'm sure about, it's that even after all these years, your still his number one."

Lydia forgot to breathe; the words sunk in her mind, leaving marks. She didn't know how to respond to that, let alone think of one.

"You're really lucky to have him." She said, breaking Lydia out of her thoughts. "Anyway, you don't seem to have any bumps on your head, which is good. I'm going to go and check with doctor on you. Want me to wake Stiles up?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, it's fine. Let him sleep. I can only imagine how long he's been sitting there."

Melissa chuckled and left the room, leaving Lydia to mull over everything she had been told by the nurse. Even after all these years, she was still his savour. Lydia felt happy to know that. And what she felt; there was no point in trying to articulate it over the headache she still had. But, in saying that, there was a feeling. Deep down inside, it was there.


	12. Morning Light

_A/N: Gasp! It's a poem! How unlikely for The Assassin's Son to drop in a poem, especially after uploading a week late! Who does he think he is? Why, I'm almost inclined to not read this poem, but I'll do it anyway, because it's in Lydia's point of view, and this author, Assassin's Son, is a needy little fellow who feeds off reviews and favourites. _

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><p>Come the morning light that shines at dawn,<p>

And bring me back to where I belong.

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><p>In the welcoming arms of his to keep,<p>

Shall my soul no longer have to weep.

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><p>For I am safe within his reach,<p>

And damn to those of which they preach.

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><p>That should not become what already is,<p>

But I do not care; I am forever his.

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><p>Until the day where His light claims me,<p>

The embers of my love he shall always see.

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><p>And upon that light where he stands our ground,<p>

There will be no rhyme, no reason, no sight, no sound.

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><p>They ask what has become of my soul's lover,<p>

I tell them it has become him, and that I need no longer suffer.

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><p>For once I had my faith in him; the venomous snake,<p>

And only then did I finally begin to awake.

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><p>Rise I did to his one true call,<p>

Unto held me from my perilous fall.

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><p>So now that light brings me safe and sound,<p>

Into his arms where I am found.

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><p>And when morning comes at the shine of dawn,<p>

Forever we know we will carry on.


End file.
